


Blink Back to Let Me Know

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1941, Aziraphale has a Realization, Canon Divergent, Fluff, M/M, Smoochies, Songfic, unSPEAKABLE fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: It was always youFalling for meNow there's always timeCalling for meI'm the light blinking at the end of the roadBlink back to let me knowIn a broken church in 1941, Aziraphale has a realization.





	Blink Back to Let Me Know

**Author's Note:**

> My Soft Bois!!!
> 
> Based on Always by Panic! at the Disco, and my need for fluff.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

It’s not that Aziraphale _falls_ in love in a destroyed church in 1941, it’s that he simply recognizes he always _has been_ in love. 

It’s not unlike falling, though. 

It’s just that he suddenly realizes, with a simple handing over of books and a quiet “lift home?” what every “they’ll _destroy_ you” has really meant. What every arm offered on a walk to a demon who carries _far_ too much has meant. How many times he’d slipped Crowley’s sunglasses off with a smile, assuring him it was just the two of them in Aziraphale’s crowded little home. How many times the resulting smile had utterly shattered the angel, prying his chest open until the Love threatened to spin out of control. 

And, with a soft “oh” and a step forward, that he realized how many times the demon had done the same for him. 

“Alright, angel?” Crowley called behind him, glancing over his shoulder with a tip of his hat. A very charming hat. 

Was a cup of cocoa on the third gloomy day alright? A rescue from the guillotine, and a lunch after? A miracle of a sold out Hamlet, leading to a happy and affectionate Shakespeare? Was a rescue from Nazis, a saving of books alright? 

Or had they all been signs? 

Aziraphale realized. Standing before smoking wings on a statue that should not have burned, he realized he was in love with a demon, and that the very same demon had been giving him subtle signs of love since the Beginning. 

He blinked. “Alright,” he breathed. “Are you quite sure my shop will still be standing?” 

Crowley turned with a smirk, holding Aziraphale’s door open. “Quite.” 

Aziraphale felt his heart stutter, and smiled warmly back. 

He buried himself in thought on the way home, hands fidgeting in his lap. Had he been too cold? Had he not shown Crowley how much he appreciated him? How much he did truly love the dear boy? Should he have done more? If he had done more, slipped a hand against the demon, inserted a kiss to the cheek or two, would that have changed things? Or would that have chased Crowley away? 

Was he misreading the situation, the signs? 

“Angel,” Crowley said gruffly, picking a hand up from the wheel to poke at Aziraphale’s shoulder, “don’t worry over them. We can’t make human’s choices.” 

“What? Oh. Oh, quite.” Aziraphale swallowed. He was fine to let Crowley think that he was worried over humans. 

Could Crowley feel the Love coming from him? He could feel Love from Crowley, but he’d always just assumed the Love was for the humans and whatever mess they’d cooked themselves into this time. “Oh, dear,” he muttered, worrying his hands over the handle of the bag that contained the saved books. 

“What?” So he had said that out loud. Oh dear. Crowley glanced at him, then fixed him with a steadier look. “Did that idiot forget a book?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort, dear boy,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. He noticed they were back to his shop, which was blessedly intact, and scurried out. “Thank you, again, by the way—“ 

“You really shouldn’t thank me—“

“I’ll just be up—“

He stopped at his door, turning around to see Crowley still standing at the Bentley. The demon’s arms were crossed over the roof, a vaguely indulgent, vaguely smiling expression on his face. Aziraphale’s heart froze in his throat. 

It would be lonely upstairs, with the closed sign on the door, without the demon. It would be horribly human, to be alone after all that.

He worried his hands again. Would the demon even want…? 

He took a breath and a leap of courage, leaning on the Love. “I’ll be upstairs, if you’d like to join me, that is.” 

Crowley smiled, leaned back, and closed the door to his beloved Bentley. Aziraphale waited until he was right there to open the door to his shop, waved the demon through. 

He set down the bag of books and began to sort through them as Crowley murmured, “I’ll put on the kettle, cocoa or tea?” 

“Cocoa, please,” Aziraphale murmured back absentmindedly. 

“Back room or upstairs?”

“I’ll just set these in the back room and be up,” Aziraphale chattered back, and then he heard violins. 

Crowley was making him cocoa, and asking him where he’d be, and that meant he’d be staying, that he wasn’t going anywhere—

Crowley was blinking back.

Aziraphale reached out, but Crowley was already in the kitchen, puttering around. He knew the demon could have just miracled it all up.

But the demon knew Aziraphale liked it done up the _human_ way. 

Aziraphale blushed and rushed through putting the books back where they’d been. He tried to settle himself in to the chair he spent much of his reading time in, but couldn’t get comfortable. He switched to the loveseat— nominally better, but he still couldn’t focus.

He still ducked his head down to “read” when Crowley wandered up the stairs, whistling a tune gently. Aziraphale pretended to be surprised, but the gentle smile and the blush gave him away. He put his book down, and took a sip of the cocoa offered to him, then set that down too. 

“Thank you,” he murmured as he did. 

“Good?” Crowley asked, fidgeting just slightly. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale agreed, then took a chance. 

More specifically, he took Crowley’s hand and kissed his knuckles. Crowley’s breath stuttered. “Angel?” 

He looked up at that, searching Crowley’s face, looking for any trace that the demon _didn’t_ want this. 

Instead, he found hope, a softening of lines, worry spreading across his friend’s face the longer he did nothing.

“Oh, my dearest—“ 

And then he kissed Crowley, good and proper, but still gentle in case Crowley decided he’d rather not. He was rewarded with a small gasp, but no pull away— when the angel did part, he almost thought he felt Crowley chasing after him. 

Crowley’s face was endearingly red. 

“Angel, what—“ Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale reached up and tipped his hat off (rude of him to wear it indoors), then gently removed his sunglasses. They were covered in soot. 

He leaned back, reaching down to his shirt to clean them off. Crowley stilled his hand. “Don’t ruin your shirt for me,” he nearly hissed. 

“It won’t be ruined,” Aziraphale responded plainly, gently knocking Crowley’s hand away and cleaning the glasses, then setting them aside, atop his book and next to his cocoa. “See? All fine.” 

Crowley looked baffled. 

Aziraphale kissed him again, hands threading up through the soft red hair at the back of Crowley’s head. The demon whimpered as one hand cupped his jaw, then wrapped his arms around Aziraphale— one around his shoulders, one around his waist, squeezing gently to pull him closer, and Aziraphale _melted_. 

He’d heard of soulmate myths; of atoms created in the same part of the galaxy, of beings split in two to spend millennia searching for each other. He didn’t know that he particularly believed in any of those (though he liked a good few), but he did know this— 

It had _always been_ Crowley.


End file.
